Some Revisions

In the next few weeks, this blog may not exist any more. Instead something bigger and better may come. If I have provoked some kind of wonder, I am sorry, for I don't know what will take its place, yet. At any rate, I have to make some changes and some revisions. Before I delete the blog, I will post the other site's hyperlink. No worries.

January is gone

Okay--January came and went. And, what do you know, nothing new. Hmmm. I could post some of my poems from Creative Writing...NO. That would be a bad idea. I am a fictional story-teller, not a poet. At any rate, once I get my life back from school work and stupid computer games, perhaps I'll finish something. Maybe even this weekend.

The Forest Keeper

The caravan stopped at the edge of the wood to make a case for the night. The stars shown overhead twinkling about the dark expense above. Fires were started. Tents were constructed. A soft cold wind swept through the camp, causing the flames of the campfires to jump and spark, casting strange shadows throughout the camp. On the edge of the Jasol forest, the merchants readied themselves for a good night’s sleep. Laughter died and sleep overtook them. Silence embraced the camp.

Until somewhere from deep within the forest a lone shrill howl filled the night air. The night watchman stirred and focused on this sounds drifting from the forest. Again, the lonely note echoed from the forest. The watchman moved quickly and silently into a tent, his heart pounding inside him. He resentfully woke his master and told him about the noise outside. Bleary eyed and quite confused, the head of the merchants rose quickly from his mattress and stumbled outside, following the watchman. The howl rose again from the forest, much louder and closer than it had ever been. If the merchant’s eyes grew wide in the fading moonlight nobody could tell. He swayed as he stood, as if he wasn’t confident in his balance, listening to the haunting note. In all of his travels along the edge of this wood, he could not remember such an occurrence. He shivered when the note sounded again.

The watchman had stirred the coals in the fire and started a small blaze to shed some light among the limbs and boughs overhanging the campground. A chill raced down his spine. Then, he came to his senses—of course it wasn’t real. He figured he dreamt or the wind played some sort of trick among the trees of the forest. He told the guard to dismiss the sounds but to keep a watchful eye on the woods. Thieves had been known to reside in the forests. Yawning, he stumbled back to the tent and a good night’s sleep. The howls subsided and all was silent.

The Search for the Great River: Part I

"I will find it..." answered the elderly man.

"You cannot hunt Sanyx anymore...how do you intend to find the 'Great River' if you pass through the Western Plains--it is deep in Sanyx territory!" one of the villagers snapped. The people gathered around him nodded and grunted in approval.

"I shall not fail!" he stated, reaffirming his position.

"This is madness...you cannot be sure it even exists!" another objector claimed. "Besides, who will teach our sons while we hunt? Who will manage the affairs of our village as you do so well? Listen...you are of more value here in the village than wandering around the Western Plains, chasing a vision." Bursts of "yes" and "answer that?" erupted from the crowd, until the old man raised his hand, silencing the crowd.

"I must go..." he began, but a loud voice interupted him.

"He is mad...leave him to his crazy ideas," quipped one of the more prominent Sanyx hunters. "He has nothing to offer us now. Let us concern ourselves with him no longer." With a final sneer, the hunter turned and walked away.

At that the crowd began to disperse, leaving the elderly man alone with his thoughts and his pack in the town center. Whispers floated around the town as people passed each other, glancing nervously at him. At last, the old man rose and strode resolutely out of the village and down the forest path that led to the open plains and westward to the Great River.

Of Mollocks

The barren Xali Desert loomed to the north. The unending horizon of the sea stretched southward. Behind them to the west lay their home cities of Mizeroth and Paneroth. Before them lay the unexplored southeastern range: the Qara Mountains. The colonists moved eastward along the Dalan River Plain. The Kerean Post, an ancient watchtower built on a small mesa, served as the center of their winter encampment. But now, as the air warmed and spring blew life into the landscape, the colonists packed their possessions, ready to venture onward, past the reach of common civilization. None had ventured past the Qara Mountains, nor crossed the Xali Desert from the north. They sought a promised land. Two thousand settlers tore down tents and loaded wagons, beginning to filter eastward from the Kerean Post. Fifty horsemen accompanied the settlers to scout the terrain and protect them from the unknown dangers of their migration.

As the colonists began to move towards the snow-capped mountains, a bitter, chilled wind rushed down from the mountains to meet them. A foul whisper rode the frozen breeze. The horses became jittery and the nervousness spread like a disease among the settlers. Then, as suddenly as it started, the wind ceased. But it seemed to have summoned clouds. The air grew cold as storm clouds choked off the living giving light of the sun. The darkness enveloped them and their hearts. Some of the settlers began to speak of return to Kerean Post. Discontent settled in. Flakes of snow soon filled the air. The wind returned with a renewed ferocity and the colonists braced themselves for a bitter storm. Soon, the snow built on the ground and the procession stopped to weather the spring flurry.

Then, the ambush began. Five dark forms appeared in the distance, obscured by the falling snow. They grew larger, but no clearer. The colonists huddled together and the men grabbed any sort of weapon and moved to the edges of the circle with the riders circling around the settlers. The soldiers called to each other in the blinding storm, relaying orders and directions. The dark shadows now grew darker and larger as they approached. The horses' restlessness intensified and the men blinked in the blinding snow. Women snuggled against carts with whimpering children, wrapping themselves with extra blankets.

The lead silhouette passed through the veil of snow and gained texture and form. Leathery gray skin seeped from beneath the rusted iron breastplate the beast wore. It charged the settlers, lumbering towards them on two elephant-like legs. Standing the height of six men, its gaze fell on the defending soldiers. Two fiery eyes glared from behind the spiked war-helmet it wore. It clutched a blade the size of two men in its hands and it lifted it above its head with ease. A jet of steam blew out from its flattened nostrils. Four others followed it in the attack. It bellowed a war-call and swung its weapon when it came up on the first defenses of the colonists.